Sigquaya

  His jaw tightened. “I don’t know,” he said. “I was on my way from the training grounds when the Captain pulled me aside and said, ‘Come with me.’ We found him in the Temple, cowering behind the effigy of Brynewielm.”

  “Did anyone see?”

  “I thought he recognized me at first,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard, “because I was able to get him out of the Temple. No one seemed to pay any mind. But then, when he saw the Captain behind him, he just lost it. That’s when he started yelling about us taking him to the Gildrom and about killing Tristan and all that.

  “Then,” he said, “I thought he might have recognized that we were taking him home. He seemed to settle a little bit, until he saw Mother.” He shook his head, exasperated. “Maybe it was because I was wearing my Þrymm colors. I just . . . I-I don’t know if he recognizes any of us anymore. Not consistently. It’s like I said. He’s getting worse.”

  “I know,” Arteura said. “I know. And so does Mother. We just don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe he should be tied up,” Marcus growled. “Or locked up.”

  Arteura flinched. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, Arteura, I do. I can’t handle him on my own. I don’t think any of us can. Thank the gods the Captain was there. And willing to be so . . . forgiving. What happens when Father no longer recognizes us? For good this time?”

  An answer came from behind the burlap curtain. “Then kill me.”

  Arteura and Marcus reeled at hearing their father’s voice. Arteura opened the curtain between them. Remè hadn’t moved; his head was still down between his hands, but his eyes were open, staring a hole into the wall between them.

  “Father?” she asked timidly.

  “I mean it,” he said, his voice parched and thick, never lifting his face from the smeared papers beneath him. “If I ever make an attempt to hurt either of you, or your mother, it will not be me doing it.”

  His eyes slowly came to focus on his children. “You think I don’t know that I’m slowly slipping away from myself? You don’t think I don’t see it? Feel it? If it comes to that, and I no longer recognize you, just know that whatever it is you need to do, it will no longer be me you’re doing it to.”

  Arteura’s lip quivered. “But, Father—”

  “I remember the last time I struck your mother, Arteura, after Tristan’s death. How you stepped between us.” He shook his head with a faltering smile. “So young. So brave. And I also remember the look you had in your eyes.” He shifted his gaze to Marcus. “It was the same look you gave me, just now outside. The anger. The hatred.”

  Remè began to cry as Marcus looked away.

  “If I ever try to hurt either of you again, or your mother,” he repeated, his graveled voice shaking. Then, despite his crazed appearance, he raised his head and fixed them both with a clear-eyed lucidity. “I want you to kill me.”

  His head dropped to the desk once again, as if that moment of clarity took every ounce of effort he’d had. Once again his shoulders shook with quiet sobs. Arteura looked at Marcus and slowly closed the curtain, leaving their father in his silent prison of misery.

  They turned.

  Rhiana was there, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, her arms crossed and her teeth grinding. She looked back at them for a few long seconds and then shrank back into her bedroom as the curtain drifted closed behind her.

  Marcus looked at his sister. “Do y—”

  “She heard,” she said, then raised her chin toward the counter. “Forget the bread. It’s late and I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

  16

  The Rise of the Gildrom, the Fall of the Water

  Less than a week after we’d told Daina of my idea, the six of us—Marshaan, Daina, Peata, Rahn, Telluras, and I—stood around the small, flattened landing beside the Waters, at the reaping place we called Estemere. There was barely enough room, especially given the size of Marshaan and Telluras, but the only alternative was to get into the Waters themselves, and no one was eager to take that literal plunge just yet.

  The sun had yet to crest the horizon when we’d started off that morning. The plan was that Marshaan, Telluras, and I would travel up the river’s passageway to where the waterfall supposedly spilled out. The journey was going to be threefold: we wanted to see if these falls I spoke of actually existed; we needed to know how far this journey would be; and we wished to know if it would actually be feasible to reap the Hæðn sacrifices from that point instead of further downstream at Estemere.

  It wasn’t that no one believed my memory of a waterfall, but even I wasn’t certain what all I’d gone through during that horrendous journey. After all, it had been five years and a fair amount of repression. I suppose I was as curious as anyone.

  Daina and Rahn were going to stay at Estemere, standing watch and supporting in any way needed, and communicating with Peata, who would go back to Cierra but check in throughout the day. Hopefully we were going to reconvene at the reaping place by dusk if not sooner, either with news of the falls or bearing a terrified but otherwise safe child along with us.

  There hadn’t been much conversation on the way in other than small talk, either about the weather or how chilly it was in the caves the closer we got to the Waters, anything but about what we were actually going to do—willingly submerge ourselves into the Waters of Death and Life. But, here we were.

  Marshaan heaved a sigh and sat down on the ledge, throwing his legs over and dangling his bare feet in the Waters. He clenched his teeth and shuddered, not because the Waters were cold—they were surprisingly tepid—but just the feel of the moving water was enough to set him on edge.

  “I suppose it’s time,” he said over his shoulder.

  He was right, and at that, Telluras and I joined him on the ledge. Then, slowly, we all sank in. I sucked in a breath as I held on to the ledge with one hand and did a little water-treading dance while trying desperately to keep my other arm above water.

  Rahn sputtered out a laugh. “You lot look like you just sunk yourselves into an anthill or a pile of dung or something.”

  Marshaan growled through his gritted teeth, “We did.” Then he looked up at Rahn with narrowed eyes. “Come a little closer and I’ll show you.”

  Rahn laughed off the threat but wisely took a step back.

  Marshaan wasn’t wrong. As I sunk my other arm beneath the Waters, the movement of the river felt like a thousand tiny eels swimming all over me. I wanted nothing more than to heave myself back on to the ledge and hike it out of this cave, but the curiosity of finding out what was upstream kept me in. In fact, it was probably the only thing keeping the three of us in at that particular moment.

  Peata handed torches to Marshaan and me. “May Ahredai go with you,” he said.

  Marshaan nodded and swung his torch toward the upstream passage. He carefully ducked it under the overhang and then followed it through. Telluras was next, and I brought up the rear, making our way along the edge and walls by handhold and foothold.

  “I still can’t feel the bottom,” Telluras said after the three of us cleared the overhang.

  “Nor I,” said Marshaan. He turned to his brother, handing him the torch. “Here, hold this.”

  When Telluras took it, Marshaan breathed deeply and steeled himself, then submerged under the Waters, his face inching below the surface and wide eyes revealing his panic. His fingers still gripped a handhold on the wall with white-knuckled intensity.

  After another moment, he broke the surface with such force that half his body came out of the river. He shook his head, his hair spraying water all over us. Then he spat, wiping his face again and again, as if the streaming droplets were burning his skin.

  “Are you all right?” Telluras asked.

  “No! Of course I’m bloody well not!” he growled. “I just sank my face below the surface of these blasted Waters. How do you think I feel?!!”

  Telluras tipped his head in concession and handed back the torch.


  Marshaan spat again. “Eh, I’m fine!” he said more calmly. “I reached the bottom. It’s not as deep as it seems. I was less than a foot or so below the surface.”

  “Deep enough though, I reckon,” Telluras said.

  “Quite!”

  We continued on. The cave ceiling rose and fell, but the going was easy enough. The current wasn’t overwhelming, and handholds along the walls were plentiful. I could grip the sides with one hand, gaining footholds beneath the water, while still holding the torch with the other. This was good; we were able to crawl along the cave walls handhold to handhold rather than swim. Climbing came much more naturally to most of us in Cierra. After all, we generally loathed water, but we lived on a mountainside.

  “Marshaan?”

  The roar of the river was mild enough that the voice was faint but distinctive. It was Peata.

  “We’re here!” Marshaan shouted in response. “So far, so good.”

  “You may be able to communicate with Daina and Rahn a fair ways up the passage,” Peata called. “It seems as though the rock and Waters will act as a kind of long, hollow tube.”

  “Good point!” Marshaan answered. “We’ll call out if there is anything to report.”

  Daina answered, “Sounds good! Thank you!”

  After another few minutes, there was a sharp bend to the left. A short ways past that, we came upon an overhang of rock just at head height, stretching most of the way across the top of the small tunnel. It looked like a mouth with a couple of teeth missing. Taller waves lapped up against the hanging “teeth” as the water ran beneath.

  “I remember this spot,” I said.

  “I can imagine,” Telluras said.

  “I remember that nasty gash on your head, Caden,” Marshaan added from in front of us. “You’ve still got the scar. Do you think this is where it happened?”

  “Looks likely enough,” I answered.

  The overhang was low enough and spanned the width of the cave. It forced us to dip our faces below the waterline as we passed. I did it, grimacing the whole time. Luckily, we were able to slide our torches through the gaps between the teeth so that when we emerged at the other side, they were both still lit.

  Since I was bringing up the rear, I stopped, looking back at the menacing stalactites. I shone my torch closer to the stone and saw spots and streaks of crimson across several of them. The other two noticed my pause and bobbed back to see what I was looking at.

  As they saw, Marshaan pursed his lips with a deep breath and said, “Yours, I’m sure, Caden, and more than a few others.”

  I just nodded.

  Telluras placed a soggy hand on my shoulder. “This is why we’re doing what we’re doing, Caden. Those, like yourself, lucky enough to pass through the Waters and live.” He removed his hand and fingered one of the longer, more vivid streaks. “And, those who passed on.”

  We stared at the haunting reminder of the brutality of this passage and the cruelty of these Hæðn practices, then we turned without another word and continued.

  There was a bend to the left, then another to the right.

  More time passed, and the Waters began to drop a bit so that we were able to stand on semi-solid footing. The river only came up to our shoulders here, but the current had picked up noticeably. It was a strain to move without still using the walls to climb along. And the roar of the water had grown much louder. Marshaan called out to Daina, and we heard a response but couldn’t make out what she’d said. Marshaan yelled out what was going on, how the Waters had picked up speed and grown louder, and she said something back. We looked at each other and shrugged, hoping that it was an acknowledgment.

  So much for communication.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  “Arteura, wake up!”

  Rhiana shook her daughter, whispering her name with urgency.

  “What . . . what is it?” Arteura replied sleepily. “Father?”

  “No, it’s the Elder,” Rhiana said. “He’s going up to the Gildrom. I just saw him pass by down the street along with a couple of Þrymm guards. Today is the day.”

  “Okay,” her daughter answered, still only half awake. “So . . . what?”

  “I want to follow him.”

  “What?” Arteura darted upright and looked around. Now she was fully alert. The room still appeared to be shrouded in darkness, and she looked across at the still form of her brother, lying on his side, his back to the two of them. He could always sleep like a log when he wanted. “Now?!” she asked. “Why not wait until closer to—”

  “Yes, now. We need to follow him. Now.” Rhiana’s words came in a rush. “I want to know why there was no water in the Gildrom. I want to know how it gets there. I want to kn—”

  “Okay, okay. I get it,” Arteura said. She swung her legs over the side, looking at her mother with curiosity. “You’re almost giddy with all this, aren’t you?”

  “No I’m not,” Rhiana protested. “It’s just . . .” She struggled, but it seemed she couldn’t conjure the reason. Finally she said, “I just need to know.”

  Arteura stretched and yawned. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Then she made a scooting motion out the door. “But I need to get dressed first.”

  A few minutes later, Arteura emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing a simple off-white tunic and the pants that Rhiana had given her just a few days before. Rhiana had no doubt, especially with the coy look on her daughter’s face and the slight side-to-side sway, that the billowed pants held her new weapons underneath.

  A few minutes after, they were padding through the silent streets by the dim light of dawn. They edged toward the main boulevard and peeked around the corner just as the Elder, his assistant, and two Þrymm guards began the trek up the path toward the Gildrom several blocks down. When they had all rounded the first bend, lost to sight in the trees and shrubbery, Rhiana said, “Let’s go.”

  She and Arteura jogged, shadow to shadow, until they too were on the pathway.

  The path to the Gildrom zigzagged its way up to the entrance. It was wide and well worn, cut into the thick foliage of the mountainside by centuries of use. All of the switchbacks made it an easy place to follow and remain unseen.

  As they rounded the last switchback, they saw that the two guards had stationed themselves on either side of the entrance. The Elder’s assistant was there as well, fidgeting, whether in nervous anticipation or utter boredom, Rhiana couldn’t tell. The Elder was nowhere to be seen.

  “He’s gone in,” Rhiana said.

  “Looks like,” Arteura said. “So, what do we do? How do we get in?”

  Rhiana looked up the hill and above the pathway where they stood.

  “I’ll slip up to the right side of the entrance there, where the thicker stand of trees meets the hillside. When I’m there, I want you to distract them,” she said. “See if you can draw them away, or at least draw their attention. If you can, I might be able to slip past them. Then, if you can, join me.”

  Arteura huffed. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “Probably”—Rhiana turned to her daughter—“but do you have a better one?”

  Arteura hesitated. “No.”

  “We don’t have time for anything else. The gods only know what he’s doing in there.”

  “You’re not thinking he’s the one that’s able to raise the water, are you?”

  “May the Cyneþrymm help us if he is,” Rhiana spat. “Your grandmother only told me of Sigquaya being gifted to women.”

  “So, if it’s only passed down to women, how did—wait! You’ve wondered this all along, haven’t you?” Arteura asked. “That’s what all this ‘I need to know’ stuff was all about.”

  Rhiana just shrugged. “Mm, maybe.”

  Arteura looked up the hill. With a begrudging sigh, she said, “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” and began the slow, quiet climb up the terrain.

  Rhiana made her way just off the pathway, treading lightly along the dense
hillside and moving as close as she could to the entrance of the Gildrom, where she crouched down and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

  She heard a trickle of rocks off in the direction of her daughter. Then more. Then a virtual avalanche of stone and a hearty, “Woo-hoo!” in a strong teenage girl’s voice.

  “Oh gods!” Rhiana said, not so much for Arteura’s safety as for her flair for the dramatic. She thought, I guess if it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.

  It worked.

  From her hiding place near the entrance, Rhiana heard the two guards curse and then saw both them and the Elder’s assistant trot off in the direction of the rock slide. She bolted from her hiding spot and slipped through the entrance. Once inside, she padded along the passageway by the dim light of the rising sun shining into the entrance. But, the further she went, the dimmer it got. Then, just as the darkness began to swallow her, and the fear of how long she would have to make her way by touch, she saw the faint glow of torchlight in the distance ahead.

  ≈≈≈≈≈≈

  It seemed like an hour or more had passed. Our progress was slow and tedious—fighting the relentless current, fighting the slick rocks at our feet, fighting the edginess and agitation. I was exhausted. Telluras and Marshaan were breathing heavily as well. There were times we were able to touch bottom and times we had to swim for it, the Waters mere inches from the ceiling. We struggled to keep ourselves and our torches above the lapping waves. The current varied from slow and meandering to swift and treacherous, often within a hundred feet of one another.

  Then we came to the Y.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Marshaan grumbled.

  The river clearly came from the right-hand side of the Y. The left seemed to be moving much more slowly, almost stagnant, swirling with the residual current from the other side.

  “Which way?” Telluras asked.

  “Beats me,” Marshaan answered. “Caden? Any input?”

  I shrugged and pointed to the left. “We could try that side. It looks a little calmer, at least here. Besides, I could use a break from this damned current.”